Chapter 24

Dylan's head snapped up at Harper's mention of seven years. “Hold up—your memory's back?” The question hung in the air, crackling with implications. Tyler's eyes darted to Harper, unmasked worry crossing his face. Could their few months together possibly compete with seven years of history?

Sensing his anxiety, Harper interlaced her fingers with his before saying, "Yeah, I remember everything now," she said evenly. "But seriously, Dylan—what made you think that would change anything? For seven years, did you ever show me one moment of actual kindness? The only thing you could even dig up to jog my memory was some sachet I pathetically made you that you tossed in a junk drawer. Do you have a single happy memory between us that wasn’t completely one-sided?"

Dylan stood frozen, the devastating truth robbing him of any response.

"Seven years was enough," Harper continued, her voice softening slightly. "You got sick of pushing me away, and I got tired of being the doormat. I've found someone I actually want to build a life with. Please… just let me go."

It was both rejection and mercy—a clean break.

"I'm sorry," Dylan finally whispered, the words years too late. He turned and fled the room, unable to face the consequences of his choices any longer.

When they were alone, Tyler looked at Harper with cautious hope fighting against his fear. “When you said someone you want to build a life with… were you talking about me?”

Harper squeezed his hand tighter, meeting his eyes with absolute certainty. “Yes, Tyler Scott. I want the whole package with you.”

In the hallway, Dylan had barely made it past the nurses' station when Ruby appeared, wild-eyed and desperate. Her designer wardrobe replaced by a rumpled hospital gown, her hair tangled and matted with dried blood, she grasped his sleeve with trembling hands.

“You can’t let them take me,” she rasped, her voice breaking. “I can’t survive prison. You have to fix this.”

Dylan had already released all evidence of Ruby's design theft to the media and industry boards. The professional damage that had briefly tarnished Scott Industries had rebounded onto Ruby and Rodriguez Group with devastating force. She’d been publicly fired, blacklisted throughout the industry, and now faced serious criminal charges for attempted vehicular assault. She was looking at significant prison time.

Desperate, she clung to Dylan as her last hope—if he could convince Harper to sign a statement of forgiveness, her sentence might be reduced.

Dylan methodically peeled her fingers from his jacket sleeve, one by one.

“Please,” she sobbed, mascara streaking down her pale cheeks. “I just snapped for a second—I wasn’t actually trying to kill her! You know me!”

Dylan pushed her away, watching dispassionately as she collapsed against the wall.

“Tell it to the jury,” he said flatly, walking away as her unhinged wailing drew concerned looks from hospital staff.

Harper heard about Ruby’s fate a month later from Tyler.

“Dylan came by the office yesterday,” he mentioned casually over takeout.

Harper looked up, chopsticks paused midair. “Handom. Why bring up the ghost of relationships past?” Their lives had been peacefully Dylan-free. True to his word, he’d stopped his pursuit, respecting her boundaries for the first time in their complicated history. Tyler, now completely secure in their relationship, no longer viewed Dylan as competition.

“He wanted to update us on the legal stuff. Ruby took a plea deal—forty-eight months at Bedford Hills,” Tyler said. “Oh, and he also announced—and I’m quoting here—that since he destroyed your happiness for seven years, he’s now prepared to spend the next seven years proving his worth to you.”

Harper made an exaggerated retching sound, and they both dissolved into laughter.

“You really don’t have any feelings left for him?” Tyler asked, his tone deliberately casual.

Harper reached across their coffee table, cluttered with takeout containers, and kissed him. “Ty, I’ve answered this question approximately eight million times, but here’s the final version: Harper Coulson loves exactly one person on this planet, and his name is Tyler Scott.”

Then, dropping to one knee, Tyler pulled a small velvet box from his pocket. "Harper Coulson, will you marry me?"

Looking at the man kneeling before her, Harper realized this wasn’t some elaborate public spectacle—just the two of them surrounded by half-eaten Chinese food in her tiny apartment. Yet her heart hammered against her ribs while every cell in her body screamed the same answer.

“Yes,” she said without hesitation. “A thousand times yes.”